Powder Burn: Arson, Money, and Mystery on Vail Mountain

Powder Burn: Arson, Money, and Mystery on Vail Mountain

Powder Burn: Arson, Money, and Mystery on Vail Mountain

Powder Burn: Arson, Money, and Mystery on Vail Mountain


Reporting on a fascinating modern true-crime story involving an Arson investigation in the popular, ultra-rich ski resort town of Vail Colorado, Glick, a Newsweek correspondent, reveals a strange, complicated community where everyone is a logical suspect. 8-pages of black & white photos.


I first came to Vail, Colorado, in September 1994, from Washington, D.C., where I was based as a correspondent for Newsweek, to write about the World Mountain Bike Championships. Mountain bike racing was about to become an Olympic event, and the country's biggest ski area was hosting the fledgling sport's national coming-out party. I had talked the magazine into sending me to cover the event, amidst accusations from my colleagues that I had pulled off a Class One boondoggle. And maybe they were right: Boarding a Denver-bound plane, I was practically giddy. Vail. Autumn in the Rockies. Mountain biking. It sure beat covering another dreary subcommittee hearing on Capitol Hill or interviewing another federal bureaucrat about health-care reform.

When I arrived in Vail after a two-hour drive from the airport in Denver, the fall foliage was at its peak, with mountainsides of quaking aspens shimmering golden on either side of a stunning high alpine valley. I was smitten by the mountains, as many first-time visitors are. I inhaled the thin, crisp, clear air, gaped at the crystalline blue sky. If this wasn't heaven, I thought, it was awfully close.

But, as so often is the case in journalism, my plans changed. The day before the mountain bike downhill finals, when my story would also be due, Newsweek called with orders to catch the next plane home. My bureau chief told me it looked as if the U.S. military was going to invade Haiti, and I was on call as a pool reporter that would accompany the Pentagon's initial assault. I dashed down to Denver and caught the first plane east.

The next day, before daybreak, I was on a C-130 transport en route to Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. From there, I transferred to a Navy ship headed . . .

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